Her intention, upon walking into Rhodes Island’s oddly extensive salon, was to get a haircut. A genuine, slash it short haircut.
Not that she didn’t love her long hair. Truly, she did. Many a time it had been remarked upon by the Durin people of Zeruertza as luscious as silk, and flowing like liquid cotton candy, and gleaming reminiscent of that one type of rock salt, which did in fact glow a warm pink under a particularly bright overhead LED.
The point is, she’s in a different profession now. And, regardless of how complementary others may be towards her hair, the fact of the matter is that it is inefficient to maintain at this stage in her life.
It had nothing at all to do with the other’s day’s incident, wherein that idiotic woman she had the misfortune to somewhat be friends with had nearly gotten the both of them killed in the factory, nor with the day before that’s incident with some woman named Firewhistle who apparently has a penchant for juggling burning lighters.
The left side of her head is still a bit sore at the roots, and the ends of pink strands in some places are still faintly singed. But that’s not the reason at all.
Because, you see, this is a decision she has made entirely of her own volition. Without any outside influences whatsoever.
Yep. 100 and 10% the truth right there.
Pozëmka steps into the salon with this thought firmly in mind, assured in her convictions.
Along with a faint sense of embarrassment, on the way over having passed a particular off-to-the-side rest area and subsequently overhearing the Doctor and their wife exchanging pleasantries. In a way that sounded both completely normal and oddly like innuendos, somehow?
“Your ears are so soft, darling.”
“Mm. So you’ve told me many a time.” A content sigh. “I do not dislike your caring attention, I will admit. Never stop.”
“Never.” A firm voice, neither masculine nor feminine, but indeed obviously loving. “Never again.”
Another sigh. “...Our work, however, is never at an end.”
“You’re right. As much as I love holding you-”
“Hold fast, beloved. I do not recall giving you any indication to stop hugging me.”
“Ah, my apologies.” A shuffle of fabric. “Is this better, my darling?”
“This is an acceptable closeness for the time and place. For now, but later I will expect more out of you.”
“Of course.”
Maybe that was just her. In any case, it was also incredibly sweet, and part of her embarrassment comes from overhearing such an intimate, if ultimately chaste, moment.
“Pardon the intrusion.” She calls, glancing around the space.
It’s rather typical of a hair salon. Spinning chairs at varying heights, large mirrors above wooden protrusions along the right wall, waiting seats and dryer chairs along the left. At the cutting stations, every other set has a shampoo bowl, with the size going up as the room went along.
No doubt a necessity thanks to the wide variety of persons Rhodes Island hosts.
Overall, the room is just as expected, and also surprisingly bright and pop-y. It is colorful, and light, and there is a sort of pleasant perfume scent to the air that serves well to relax her usually uptight stature.
“Oh, hello there!” There’s only one person inside, at the moment. Any other patrons are no doubt finishing their shifts somewhere, or are causing mischief somewhere else. “Did you require our services, or are you just looking in?”
Pozëmka pauses just past the threshold, as her gaze lands on this person.
“I-” She finds it hard to breathe for a moment, her breath having caught somewhere between Zeruertza and this salon.
Strange, that. She didn’t recall anyone complaining about a virus out and about. That’s the only feasible explanation for this, clearly, but why else would she have this odd pang in her chest at the sight of such an adorable-
Ahem.
…at the sight of such a respectable young woman with a similar hair color. Bubblegum, or cotton candy.
“Ma’am?”
Pozëmka snaps out of it and, ignoring the followup tinge of flush to her cheeks, clears her throat.
“I apologize.”
“What are you apologizing for?” The young woman tilts her head, bemused.
“I am here for your services.” Pozëmka moves right along. “That is, assuming you are one of this establishment’s hairstylists?”
“That’s right, I am!” Well, if this refined lady-type was going to ignore the pause, then so would Goldenglow. Speaking of which, “I’m Operator Goldenglow. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I am Pozëmka, Rhodes Island’s new Operator as of a week ago. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Truly, it is.
-=-
It is after she has been seated, and a large cloth has been draped over her torso and secured at her neck, that they go into specifics.
“Could you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard you right.”
“I intend for my hair to be cut to shoulder height.” Pozëmka sniffs. “Rhodes Island is a dangerous place for long hair, clearly. I worry for my own safety.”
“R- right.”
Goldenglow spins Pozëmka’s chair slowly, so that the Lupo is facing further into the salon, the large wall mirror to her right. Her long hair swishes at the motion, and Pozëmka tilts her head forward slightly, giving the stylist easier access.
She hasn’t actually gotten a haircut in a while. Often at Zeruertza she was far too busy writing and searching for inspiration, such that she took matters into her own hands.
Scissor-ically speaking.
And, the times she did manage to find a Durin salon, all the chairs were too short to make the experience a worthwhile endeavor. And she didn’t go often enough to justify a chair just for herself.
Goldenglow moves around effortlessly, organizing the wooden shelf to their right. Sprays, trimmers, combs, and what have you are replaced and shifted about, until the station is exactly what it needs to be for the session at hand.
“Thus, the thought of short hair stuck in my mind. It is more efficient, no?” Idly, Pozëmka recognizes that she is more verbose with this surface dweller than most others so far.
“It is easier to manage.” Goldenglow agrees. She moves closer, carding her fingers through some misplaced strands. Then, she leans forward, smoothing out a section of Pozëmka’s fabric covering.
Pozëmka jumps a bit at the sudden closeness. There’s a strange sensation faintly registering now, along with a bit of noise, but she is unable to pinpoint it before her stylist continues speaking.
“Ah, but that’s a bit of shame.” Goldenglow hums, running her hands under another section of cotton candy strands, holding it up slightly, and checking it under the light.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s just, hm, your hair is very pretty, Miss Pozëmka.”
Pozëmka has never been shot before, but at Goldenglow’s words it feels like she has just been shot for some ungodly reason. Shot through the heart.
“It’s almost a shame to- ah, no, what am I saying! It’s your decision to make! Just ignore me, I’m rambling about random things-”
“I was just- !” Pozëmka interjects at a higher pitch than usual, blatantly refusing to look back. “I was just thinking about it! For future reference!” Definitely not blushing, at all, she tries to salvage the situation. “Right, for the future. Not right now. Just, ah, a bit of a trim for today, thank you. I suppose I hadn’t made that clear, which is my own mistake.”
“Oh!”
Pozëmka audibly hears, and through the air’s vibrations can practically feel , Goldenglow perk up. Following this, she tries to ignore the odd warmth in her chest… had she seriously caught something from these surface dwellers already?
She’d only been around for past a week. 9 days at the most!
“Then, I must have misunderstood. I’m sorry.” Despite apologizing, Goldenglow sounds rather upbeat.
Pozëmka still feels the need to reassure her, for some reason.
“There’s no need to apologize. It is unnecessary.” A pause. “I should have stated my intent more clearly.”
There, assurance plus a statement of fault on her own end. That should settle things.
…which mattered to her at all, why?
Also- dammit, again , that strange sensation makes itself known.
It’s impossible to ignore now. There’s this little… thumping noise? That she has only just managed to register. A little fwip fwip that her stylist seems to not have noticed, for she has said nothing about it.
What a strange situation Pozëmka finds herself in right now.
“Hmm. Well, alright then.”
Goldenglow shifts back, a quiet tunk of metal against some surface sounding. Having picked up and placed down some sort of haircutting implement, presumably, she moves forward once more. A slight tug is felt, gentle and not at all painful, and Pozëmka turns her head slightly.
“So, to confirm. This is a trim, right? You’re at about knee-length right now…”
One of Goldenglow’s hands is moving, trailing up, up, up those cotton candy strands. Judging thickness, tangle, angle of the ends, and no doubt picturing the end result as well.
“I’ll need to shift these… trim a couple ends here… this is damaged, so that’ll be…”
Pozëmka let her ramble for a bit, unwilling to interrupt whatever process her stylist has. For about a minute.
“Goldenglow?”
“Ah!” She doesn’t physically jump, but it’s clear from her voice she was lost in thought, “Yes?!”
“For the length,” To her shoulders, had been her intention earlier. “The minimum necessary should be cut. I’d like the damaged ends gone, but beyond that let us retain as much as possible. Is that sufficient an explanation?”
“Sufficient indeed. Your hair seems very easy to work with, so there should be no trouble.”
Goldenglow is at times both very bubbly and somewhat reserved, and the juxtaposition of these traits along with her cute face partially visible out of the corner of her eye is doing funny things to Pozëmka’s heart.
Hm. Perhaps a checkup is in order. Though, not with Gavial. For some reason, Pozëmka feels a faint premonition regarding that particular conversation. One of imminent death via embarrassment.
It is an odd feeling, for certain.
“If that’s the case, then it’s likely not necessary to undo these braids, since they shouldn’t come down too far. Although, if you want me to, I can-”
Goldenglow’s hand presses just behind her ear, at the roots of the braided hair on her left side. Then, her fingers move up and card through the strands themselves, brushing more of her hair back.
Pozëmka nearly chokes.
Fwip fwip fwip fwip.
Ah, my tail.
-=-
“Hey, Amiya?” Goldenglow enters the office with three thirds of an odd expression.
One part bashfulness, two parts bemusement, it’s the sort of look one sees unsurprisingly often at Rhodes Island, given the truly astonishing number of gay people that lived here.
And the fact that the majority of them were just positively useless in matters of romance.
“Goldenglow?” Amiya turns, half a stack of papers in her arms.
The other half is on the desk in front of- well, behind her now, as she’d just turned to look at the door. The Doctor’s desk, to be specific, featuring the Doctor themself.
They wave casually, a pen in hand.
“Hey there. Need something?”
“Well…” Goldenglow slides the door shut behind her, walking closer while clutching to zippered edges of her open jacket in both hands.
Amiya frowns, quickly setting down the half stack on the desk and walking over.
“Did something happen? Was someone bothering you at work?”
“Did Mizuki try to eat something he shouldn’t again?” The Doctor adds.
“Da- Doctor!” Amiya scolds halfheartedly, “This might be serious.”
“If it was, she probably would have rushed in.” The Doctor points out.
“That’s… a good point.”
“Besides, there’s nothing physically wrong that we can see. It’s a lot more likely that-”
“Um, Amiya, Doctor, how do you know if someone likes you?”
Doctor trails off. Amiya stares.
“Huh?” They echo in unison.
Goldenglow blushes.